Blame the Wine
by ChelsieSouloftheAbbey
Summary: A birthday fic for the lovely Chelsie fan, because she is such a dear, sweet friend. xxx Elsie gets a bit ... bold. Strong T. Enjoy!


**Happy (belated) Birthday, Chelsie fan! xxx**

 **CSotA**

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Elsie blames the wine.

 _That must be it,_ she concludes. After all, she's hardly _that_ sort of woman.

She turns to face their bedroom window and sees that the moon is bright tonight. A soft beam of light is coming in through the tiny gap between the curtains, and it lights up the side of her husband's arm. Elsie watches as he breathes deeply, and she bites down on her lip as she contemplates what she's about to do.

The thing is, she's _never_ done it before, something which both thrills and frightens her.

Her hand slowly comes out from underneath the coverlet, which is pulled up to her shoulders but only around Charles's waist. She can see the steady rise and fall of his chest and knows from experience that if she were to lie atop it, she would hear his steady, even heartbeat.

She gives in and reaches for him, tucking her hand underneath the blanket again, where she begins to caress his leg.

His initial gasp is a bit disheartening, giving her pause because she can tell she's woken him already; his breathing is a bit uneven now, and she felt him twitch as though she'd tickled him. But he stays still, and so she continues to trail her fingers over the skin of his thigh, from the outside in.

The rumble in his throat that eventually follows is quite encouraging, indeed.

So is the feel of his hand as he lays it gently on hers, almost insistent, ensuring that she does not pull away.

 _Well._

Charles has always been the one to initiate this side of things. It's an enormous risk she's taking, but she knows that he loves her, truly _loves_ her in ways deeper than she'd ever imagined prior to their wedding.

Echoes of past conversations float through her mind … snippets from her life in Argyll and conversations around the kitchen table when Elsie shouldn't have been listening, when things were mentioned about how women can actually enjoy the marital bed when their husbands are attentive and treat their wives with a loving, tender kindness.

Well, _her_ husband has all of that in spades. She's enjoyed their intimacy thus far - _Charlie's made sure of that,_ she thinks - and she finally feels emboldened to take some small initiative of her own.

She props herself up on her elbow as her hand continues to roam over his body. She relishes the soft feel of his skin; even after several months of marriage, she discovers something new about him - about _them_ \- almost every day. Some of them are mundane things, such as how he doesn't really like his porridge as thick as Mrs. Patmore makes it and how he's partial to the scent of lavender over roses. But there are also glorious, warm, sweet things that she's learning, the sort of things that often go hand-in-hand with whispered words of devotion, like the feeling of the pillowcase crumpled in her hand, or the sensation of his fingers tugging gently on her hair as he threads them through her wavy locks.

In fact, she enjoys all of those things much more than she thinks she should, and she suspects she enjoys them more than her husband ever dared to dream she would. They both feel as though nights at their cottage are stolen time, and they wonder how they ever did without such deep, devoted love for so long.

A playful scratch of her fingernail on his skin brings another gasp, but she knows now that her touch is not unwelcome. As his body shifts, turning towards hers, she breathes in the scent of his soap and skin and captures his lips with her own. Her fingertips travel to his hips and then to the back of his thigh once again, digging into the firm flesh of his unclothed body.

Charles reacts as most men would, with a growl and a pressing forward, leaving his wife with no question that her actions are not only welcomed, but being rewarded.

"Are you sure?" he murmurs, reaching for her leg and wrapping it around himself, and she pulls him closer, tugging at him until he's covering her body with his own.

"Do I seem unsure?" It's a harsh whisper, full of an almost desperate longing.

She inhales sharply as he settles between her legs … and then stops.

But Elsie understands. She's the one to have begun it, after all, reaching for him in the wee hours of the morning as though what he'd done earlier that night hadn't been enough for her.

Her hands leave the small of his back, trailing around his body until she manages to brush her fingers against him tentatively, then more determinedly, smiling nervously at how he twitches under her touch.

His gaze meets hers and his eyes widen slightly … a challenge.

Well, she's never been one to back away from a challenge, has she?

She takes him more firmly in her hand, tilts her hips slightly, and pulls his body into hers.

 **oOoOoOoOo**

"Elsie? Are you all right?"

She thought he was asleep, and his voice startles her as his breath flutters the hair at the nape of her neck. He reaches an arm around her and squeezes lovingly.

But she doesn't answer.

Charles moves his head a bit to drop a kiss to her shoulder. He lets his lips linger, then trails a few more kisses to her neck, ear, temple, and the back of her head.

"I suppose you haven't gone off me after all," he murmurs, and she can imagine a smile on his lips, a smile that she can't actually see but knows is there.

"No," she allows, and she bites down on her lip before saying anything further.

Charles can't understand the change in her demeanor. He furrows his brow, trying to sort it in his mind.

 _Oh, surely not,_ he thinks.

"In case you were wondering, that was a rather lovely way to be woken up - at any hour, mind you."

The heat on her face flames hotter; she's mortified now, in the stillness of their room, as the light is creeping up and reminding them both that there'll be a job to do soon, one they can't be late for.

"Well, that's good," she tells him, and he feels her body stiffen slightly in his embrace.

"Elsie?"

She sighs, giving in. "I didn't know if you found it too …" She swallows, then closes her eyes and whispers, "wanton."

Charles is almost speechless.

 _Almost._

He lifts his body a bit and leans over her.

"Elsie May Carson, are you being serious?"

"Yes," she replies, turning her head a bit to face him.

His eyebrows move up in amusement. "Did I seem as though I were upset?"

"Well, no," she acquiesces. "Not at the time. But now -"

"But now nothing," he interrupts. "I can't even believe we're having this conversation." He kisses her on the forehead. "I could have just said 'no.' I don't suppose that occurred to you?"

Elsie rolls over so that they're chest to chest, and when he cups her cheek and brushes aside a stray lock of her hair with his thumb, she turns her face and kisses his hand.

"I'm blaming the wine," she mumbles. She drops her gaze to his chest, but his deep, quiet laughter makes her grin.

"In that case," he tells her, tapping the tip of her nose with his knuckle, "I'll stock up."

"Oh hush, Charlie. I mean it. I don't know what came over me."

"Els," he says, drawing her closer and waiting until she settles herself in his embrace, her cheek resting over his heart, "when I said that I wanted us to be married in _all ways,_ I was rather hoping that the enjoyment wouldn't be completely one-sided … that it wouldn't be you just complying because you felt it was your …"

"Wifely duty?" she supplies, smiling more widely now.

"Precisely." He reaches for her hand, looking down at it as his thumb caresses her knuckles. "I want to know you're enjoying it," he adds in a whisper. "And if you're not ..."

"I am," she reassures him instantly. "Very much. I just never meant to be so … _forward."_

"More's the pity. I hope that doesn't mean you won't do it again."

Her discomfort is nearly gone, and in its place is a feeling of happiness tinged with pride. She turns her head and kisses his chest.

"I do love you, you old curmudgeon," she says. "I know I rarely say that, but I do. But you're a traditionalist through and through, you know."

"So I have been told."

"Exactly. And, well, I wasn't sure how _proper_ you'd find it for me to … well, to _start_ that sort of thing."

"I think," he replies, squeezing her tightly, "that as long as we're both happy, we can forge our own way. Make our own sense of what is proper for us?"

She nods. "All right."

Charles glances at the clock. "We've another hour before we really need to get out of this bed. Why don't you go back to sleep for a bit?"

"I'm sorry I kept _you_ from sleeping."

"I'm not," he insists. "Besides … this is our little love nest, isn't it?"

Elsie's face reddens once again. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh, I can't imagine."

"Charles, are you listening at doors when you should be in your pantry?"

He licks his lips, smirking at the memory of the overheard conversation from the week before. "Not intentionally."

"Oh, you mustn't tell her," Elsie breathes. "She'd be mortified!"

"I found it rather odd that she made the statement in the first place, truth be told," Charles says. "I didn't think people would be discussing us, discussing our marriage and all that it entails, and in the kitchen of all places!"

"Well," Elsie reminds him, "I did open the door for her opinion on that side of things. And we owe her a lot. Besides, I know she was teasing me. I wasn't about to discuss it, so I merely agreed with her to quiet her down."

"So I heard."

She snuggles up against him. "Hush, now. You were going to let me sleep."

"I was."

They're quiet for a bit, and then Elsie hears, "Well. 'Love nest.' I kind of like that."

She glances over at the nightstand, where her empty wine glass rests, and smiles.

"Me too," she whispers.

Charles moves a bit further down the bed and wraps his arms more snugly around his wife.

"And, Elsie?" he asks, and she rolls her eyes, thinking she probably won't be going back to sleep after all.

Which is her fault, she remembers.

"Yes, dear?"

"I love you, too," he murmurs in her ear, and she chuckles, her heart filled with joy.

"Good."

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 **I'd love to know what you thought if you have the time to leave a wee review! x**


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